The Price


Certain speculation lead me to believe that there was no such thing as free. In a world that comes distinctively to every individual, it’s always hard to see eye to eye. I grew up on the edge of the middle class. Never hungry, but always starving for more. I find that it is our own perspective that sets the stage of our own happiness. What feels to me like starvation is probably the equivalent of someone else’s satisfaction. I know enough however to always be grateful for everything I’ve ever had. I know to not take for granted the hard work of a man’s labor. I know to always have compassion for those who go to bed at night without a roof over their head. I learned through the years how greedy we can become. Seeing on repeat the way that those who have their hands full are more than often unable to muster an inch of remorse for how it might feel to live without having anything. The idea of having more, or less being the grounds in which we live just seems dehumanizing in too many ways. And though wealth seems to always win the race, in the end it is all too corrupt to leave room for any other outcome. I find that true wealth is inequivalent to true happiness, and that true happiness is far more fulfilling, and far more worthwhile than any wealth could ever be. How easily our reality is blinded when our world is filled by the fiction, and illusion of unnecessary nonsense. How easily we lose sight of what we truly need when we are lost in the glimmer of having anything we could ever want. One man’s worth should never be measured by the sum of his profits, nor the emptiness of his pockets.
But in the end, I guess that’s just too much to ask.

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